Sometimes I think my tears have frozen.
They have turned to salty ice inside my body
blocking the streams for other things
like blood.

Long icicles that wish for summer
But my body is too cold for help.

Sharp edges creating holes
But they’re covered with the snow of winter
The beautiful white blanket across a field of what used to be green grass
The kind you wish to lay in and pick the dandelions from
But there are no dandelions in the winter
They’re all dead
All the dandelions
They wish for summer too.

Those longs days when you waited for the moon to come out just so you could talk to someone.

She held you with her bright white light
But the night was cold
And you were wrapped up in your blanketed bed
Waiting for summer.

Because maybe then she’d see you cry.